


no sincerer love

by gothyringwald



Series: S15/future Destiel Fix-Its [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Confessions, Developing Relationship, Domestic, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Food, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Interrupting Sam Winchester, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: “There is no sincerer love than the love of food.” Except, maybe, for Dean’s love for Cas (and Cas’s love for him). This is their new relationship shown through six meals they share together when a newly human Cas returns from The Empty.(AKA Five meals Dean makes for Cas and one Cas makes for Dean)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: S15/future Destiel Fix-Its [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026505
Comments: 253
Kudos: 709





	1. peanut butter and jelly

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this ask valleydean got on Tumblr](https://valleydean.tumblr.com/post/634910354496995328/whatever-you-do-dont-think-about-the-fact-that) :) it's since taken on a life of its own haha
> 
> I started writing this between 19 and 20, so it was before I knew about Cas helping Jack rebuild heaven, and before I knew Dean took Miracle home with them, and as such contains neither (sorry, Miracle!) also, I've only watched the later (like S7/8 on) seasons once through and they're a bit of a blur, so apologies if anything in this contradicts them! I'm planning a re-watch to refresh my memory XD
> 
> The background relationship is Sam/Eileen (mentioned in a couple of chapters, and she appears briefly in one chapter later)
> 
> Also, the quote may actually be 'no love sincerer' not 'no sincerer love' (my initial fact checking failed me, but I'll stick with the title I originally used - it's close enough)
> 
> ETA: Now have [a little promo thing on tumblr for it if you're into reblogging :)](https://ersatzangel.tumblr.com/post/641871316016873472/no-sincerer-love-t-158k-complete-a-fluffy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “… a good dinner is of great importance to good talk. One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.” _A Room of One’s Own_ by Virginia Woolf
> 
> “There is no sincerer love than the love of food.” George Bernard Shaw

Dean hasn’t eaten in days.

There’s been no room for food when he’s filled with _Cas is gone_ , and _Cas loves me_ , and _I miss him, I need him, I love_ — _Cas loves me and it killed him_. He can’t think about food. There is only whiskey and how it doesn’t burn like it did ten, twenty years ago, as he tries to drown everything else out.

Even when Sam drags him out of his stupor and sits his ass down in front of a pile of books—‘We’re gonna get him back, we’ll find a way’—it’s still whiskey, research, whiskey, research, whiskey, passing out on a pile of books and waking with his neck screaming and his stomach pitching.

Whiskey and a slow mounting dread in the pit of his stomach because there’s _nothing_ in any of the books and Dean knows, he knows, he’s never going to get Cas back. Not this time.

‘Dean,’ Sam says, eyeing the stale sandwich at Dean’s elbow. He’d put it there around noon, and Dean hasn’t looked at it in the past eight hours. ‘You have to eat.’

Dean glares at him.

‘When Cas gets back—’

‘He ain’t coming back, Sammy.’ Dean pushes away from the table, chair legs screeching over the floor. ‘So just shut it.’ He stalks away, locking himself in his room, and can’t even listen to music.

But Cas does come back, Cas comes back to him.

There’s a spell Dean finds by chance, one that he has to do alone, in the room where Cas was taken. So, he sets it all up, says the right words, and waits. And waits. But nothing happens and Dean thinks he might puke. He turns away, but then there’s a sound from behind him. It could be anything but he wheels around and Cas is standing there, exactly where he was when—

‘Cas!’

Cas turns, smiling, and Dean is filled with a rush of everything he’s been trying to hold back for _years_.

In the end, Dean isn’t sure what makes it out of his head and through his mouth—he’s too choked up to say ‘I love you, too’ but he’s pretty sure he says ‘I missed you so much’—as he throws his arms around Cas and holds him tighter than he ever has. And Cas holds him back, saying his name in the most heartbreaking way.

And then Sam is there, and they do all the tests to make sure Cas is Cas, make sure the spell worked right, and then Sam is hugging Cas and welcoming him home and then the ice-water shock that Cas is human, now.

It’s not until Sam has gone to bed and Dean is alone with Cas that he can even think about how the lingering emptiness beneath his joy is hunger. And then it’s only because Cas’s stomach rumbles, cutting through the silence that’s settled over them.

Dean raises his brows. ‘Hungry, huh?’

‘I suppose so,’ Cas says in that deep rumble that goes straight to Dean’s, well, everything. He thought he’d never hear it again. Cas’s brow furrows and he ducks his gaze. ‘I’ll have to get used to things like hunger again.’

Something squeezes tight in Dean’s chest. ‘Yeah,’ he says, and shifts in his chair. ‘I can make you something.’

Cas looks up. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Yeah, well, I want to. Anything you want.’

_Because the one thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have._

Dean pauses, breath caught in his throat, and weighs his next words carefully. ‘You can have _anything_ you want, Cas.’

There’s something to the tilt of Cas’s head that makes Dean hopes he gets it, gets what Dean is saying. Because Dean may have clung to Cas like a drowning man clinging to a life raft, but he hasn’t been able to gather what he wants—needs—to say, yet. Not with the whiplash of grief turned to joy, not with Sam there, not with his brain a jumble of confessions and apologies.

‘I—’ Cas licks his lips. He stares at Dean, brow still furrowed, until his expression finally clears. ‘I always was fond of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.’

Dean lets out a long shuddering breath, and his lips quirk in the smallest of smiles. ‘Seriously? I can make you something better.’ He frowns, wonders when they last got groceries. ‘Maybe.’

‘You said anything I wanted.’

The look in Cas’s eyes shoots through Dean and he pushes himself up, saying, ‘All right, one PB&J coming up.’

It’s routine. Take the bread out of the bag, slap it on the breadboard. Unscrew the lids of the jars, dip the knife in. Slather the bread until it’s covered from corner to corner. The sickly sweet scent of the jelly mixes with the rich scent of peanut butter. Dean licks his thumb where it’s sticky with jelly.

Cas hovers, like he doesn’t want to be away from Dean, or maybe like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Dean cuts the sandwiches in half, slides one onto a plate and hands it to Cas, and the other onto a plate for himself.

They sit at the counter in silence; Dean picks at his sandwich, stomach still not quite settled after days of being in knots thinking Cas was gone for good and Dean would never be able to— He swallows.

But Cas… He— It’s just a peanut butter and jelly sandwich made with stale bread and the wrong kind of peanut butter but Cas eats it like it’s a freaking gourmet meal. His eyes crinkle at the corners, all lit up, practically glowing just because Dean made him a damn sandwich.

It twists something in Dean’s chest, how Cas is always moved by any small act of kindness and, fuck, Dean should have shown him more. He’s got time, now, and when he takes another bite of his own sandwich it somehow tastes a million times better. Like seeing Cas getting giddy over this stupid simple sandwich is making it taste better for Dean, too.

‘Can’t believe you wanted a PB&J for your first newly human meal.’

‘I like them.’ Cas shrugs and sucks errant crumbs off of his fingers.

‘Yeah,’ Dean says, ‘I can see that.’ He licks his lips, and nudges his plate where half of his sandwich is left over to Cas.

Cas frowns. ‘Dean, this is yours.’

‘I ain’t hungry.’

‘But you—’

‘Eat the damn sandwich, Cas.’

Cas opens his mouth then only lets out a sigh, but his eyes drift closed when he bites into the remaining half of Dean’s sandwich and there’s this look of complete contentment on his face that warms Dean from head to toe.

‘I missed these,’ Cas says.

 _I missed you_ , Dean thinks. _So damn much_. But Cas is here, safe, and alive, and _human_.

And with that Dean can’t hold the guilt back any longer. It crawls up his throat and he blurts out, ‘I’m so damn sorry, Cas.’

Cas blinks across the counter at him. ‘For what?’

‘What I did, with the spell. You’re human now.’ Dean can barely think about what had happened before, even though Cas is back, but he has to say this: ‘And that you had to sacrifice yourself for me again—’

‘Don’t apologise—’

‘I didn’t know the spell would leave you human, I swear. And I didn’t know—’

‘Dean.’ Cas reaches across the counter and curls his fingers around Dean’s wrist, tugging until Dean looks up at him. ‘I would rather be here with you, and human, than anywhere else.’

Dean’s throat tightens; he nods.

Cas slowly withdraws his hand, resting it in his lap. ‘And my grace…it was fading before, anyway. I think this was inevitable.’ His brow furrows. ‘But I don’t regret it.’ He looks up at Dean. ‘Do you?’

‘Hell no. I would’ve given anything to get you back.’ Dean runs a hand over his face. ‘I just hate that you have to give this up, and it wasn’t even your choice.’

Cas’s lips twitch. ‘I would have chosen this.’

It doesn’t quite settle the churning in Dean’s gut, but Cas is here, and he’s happy to be with Dean, and so Dean takes him at his word. ‘OK.’ He nods at Cas’s empty plate. ‘You want another sandwich? You practically inhaled those.’

‘I—’ Cas hesitates a moment, then says, ‘Yes. Thank you.’

Dean takes the plate and makes another sandwich for Cas. He can feel Cas’s gaze on him as he puts it together, and it makes something in him unspool. There’s always been tension in it, in the way Cas looks at him, in the way Dean can feel Cas looking at him, but it’s familiar, too. Comforting. He takes the sandwich back, setting it on the counter.

Cas eats this one a little slower, and Dean is content just to watch him eat. Maybe that should be weird and scary, how easy it is, and how good it feels, just to watch Cas enjoy eating something Dean made for him, but Dean is too wrung-out to give a shit. Lets himself bask in this small, simple moment, until Cas shoves the last bite of the sandwich in his mouth and wipes his hands off.

‘Thank you, Dean.’

The weight of his tone makes Dean shift in his chair. ‘It was only a sandwich, Cas.’

Cas sighs and gives Dean that exasperated look. He shakes his head and, for a moment it looks like he might get up, but instead he reaches across the table, fingers just touching Dean’s.

Dean edges his hand forward, heart stuttering, then slides it on top of Cas’s.

‘Thank you,’ Cas repeats. The look in his eyes tells Dean he means for more than the food.

‘Yeah, it’s…’ Dean sucks in a breath, curls his fingers around Cas’s. ‘You’re welcome.’

The flash of surprise on Cas’s face when Dean holds his hand breaks something in Dean, so he tangles their fingers together and squeezes. He steels himself because he needs to tell Cas what he didn’t get a chance to before. But, somehow, the words lodge in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a deep breath.

‘Are you OK?’

Dean huffs. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who—’

Cas squeezes his hand. ‘You’ve been through a lot, too.’

Dean nods. He looks off to the side, jaw clenching. ‘Look, I need to tell you something…’ Moments pass and Cas sits there patiently, waiting for Dean, and Dean still can’t make the words come out. They’re _right there_ and Dean doesn’t know why he can’t say them.

‘It’s been a long day,’ Cas says, slowly pulling away, ‘maybe we should—’

‘Don’t.’ Dean tightens his hold on Cas’s hand. ‘Don’t go.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Cas, what you said to me before—’ Dean swallows heavily. ‘It meant a lot. No one’s ever said anything like that to me.’

‘I know.’

Those two words hit something deep in Dean, make him feel seen in a way only Cas ever has. ‘I wish I could tell you—’ _I love you, too, I love you, too, I love you, too._

‘You don’t have to say anything.’

Dean blinks. His eyes sting. He does have to say something but he’s so tired and he doesn’t want to fuck this up. This is too big.

‘Maybe we should sleep,’ Cas says, and Dean’s heart slams against his ribs, but then Cas adds, ‘Is my room still made up?’

 _Ask him to stay with you, ask him to stay in your room with you. Just ask._ Dean’s jaw works. He clears his throat and says, ‘Of course, it is. You’ve only been gone four days.’ The worst four days of Dean’s life. They felt like an eternity.

‘Then I’ll go to bed. We can talk in the morning.’ Cas waits a moment, then he stands. He makes it to the kitchen door before Dean is on his feet, grabbing Cas’s arm. ‘Dean?’

Dean’s gaze roams Cas’s face, and how did he never _see_. He pulls until Cas is folded into his arms, and he’s holding Cas tight again. He breathes in the scent of him, revels in his warmth, presses his face into his neck. ‘I’m real glad you’re back.’

Cas relaxes into Dean’s embrace and says, ‘So am I.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) I’m still finding my footing writing these two—it’s very weird/different, but fun, to be writing fic for them tbh after all this time mostly just reading haha
> 
> This was meant to be just a cute one shot about Dean making human!Cas all these different meals, but it’s ended up longer and angstier than I meant it to - still gonna be cute stuff, though!
> 
> I’m hoping to update twice a week over the next few weeks :)
> 
> [Rebloggable promo on tumblr :)](https://ersatzangel.tumblr.com/post/641871316016873472/no-sincerer-love-t-158k-complete-a-fluffy)


	2. burgers and beer

The burger lists to the side as Dean sits the lid of the bun on top. He grunts, nudging the bun over, but then it falls the other way. Whatever. It’s going to taste awesome. And Cas love burgers.

He hopes Cas still loves burgers.

Of course Cas still loves burgers. How can anyone _not_ love burgers? Even Sammy loves them. Dean wipes his hands on the dish towel tucked into the waistband of his jeans, then tugs it out and slings it over his shoulder.

Footsteps sound down the hall and a moment later Sam appears, filling the doorframe. ‘Oh, hey, burgers,’ he says, coming over to lean on the counter.

‘Yeah, this one’s yours’—Dean pushes a plate toward Sam—‘got all your rabbit food on it.’

‘Thanks.’ Sam picks up the plate and makes for the table.

‘Where are you going?’

Sam pauses, brows raised. ‘Uh, to eat?’

‘Yeah, well, you can do that somewhere else.’ Dean crosses his arms over his chest. ‘Like maybe your room.’

‘You _want_ me to take food to my room? Yeah, sure.’ Sam huffs, shaking his head, then must realise Dean is being serious. ‘Wait, I’m being sent to my room? Did I stay out past curfew? Sass you too much?’

‘Cute.’ Dean chews on his lip, considering how to play this. Eventually, he settles for the truth and says, ‘I want to talk to Cas.’

‘And you can’t talk to him if I’m here?’

Dean stares Sam down, jaw tight; he didn’t tell Sam what Cas said before The Empty took him because he couldn’t stomach _thinking_ about it let alone saying it. And Cas has only been back for forty-seven hours—not that Dean is counting—and he…he needs to talk to Cas first.

‘What do you want to talk to him about? Is there something wrong or—’

‘Whatever, it can wait,’ Dean says, turning away and pretending to mop down the counter. ‘Don’t wanna give the guy indigestion, anyway.’

‘Dean, if there’s something wrong—‘

‘Nothing’s wrong!’

There’s silence for a few moments until Sam says, ‘It’s OK. I’ll go eat in my room,’ voice soft. ‘I’ve got some reading to catch up on.’

‘I—’ Dean pauses in wiping over the counter, looks up at Sam. ‘Thanks, man.’

Sam gives him a concerned look, but weirdly doesn’t press—which probably means he will, later—and walks to the door. He pauses, one hand on the doorframe, still giving Dean that puppy dog look and says, ‘Good luck. Whatever it is.’

‘Go eat your damn burger.’ Dean throws the dish towel at him.

It flutters uselessly to the floor; Sam’s footsteps echo down the hall. Even though they barely spoke, Dean feels strangely bolstered. Maybe he didn’t tell Sam about all the words he’s left unsaid for far too long, about what Cas had said to him when he finally spilled his own guts, but he thinks Sam knows, in some way. Maybe he always has. If not, he’ll know soon. Hopefully.

Dean wipes his hands on his jeans, swallows against the lump in his throat. It’s dumb to be this nervous. It should be as easy as opening his mouth and letting everything he’s known is there but has held back for _so long_ come spilling out. But, fuck, when has that ever been easy?

He finds Cas in his room, sitting by his desk. There’s not much on it—the cassette player Dean picked up at a thrift store for him, a couple of books, a dogeared photo of the four of them—and it strikes Dean how bare Cas’s room is in general. There’s nothing here that makes it look like Cas’s _home_. And Dean wants it to be Cas’s home. Well, what Dean really wants is Cas in his room. To make a home _with_ him.

Dean rubs at his chest and raps his knuckles on the door frame.

Cas looks up, frowning, before his face softens with the hint of a smile. He sets the book he’d been reading aside, but leaves the music playing. It’s Zeppelin. “Fool in the Rain.” ‘Dean.’

‘Hey.’ Dean smiles, too, his stomach doing this slow loop-the-loop. He’d say he feels like a kid again but maybe it’s closer to feeling like a kid for the first time. ‘Uh, you hungry? I made us some burgers.’

Cas’s eyes light up. ‘That sounds good, thank you.’ He reaches out, hitting stop on the cassette player, wrist peaking out from that same damn white shirt. At least he’s shed the trench coat and suit jacket, looks a little more comfortable. He ejects the tape, carefully sliding it into its box and—

‘That’s the tape I gave you.’ Dean has drifted over, standing by Cas’s shoulder. He reaches out, grasping the tape but not taking it, so they’re both holding onto it, thumbs almost touching. He slips his hand away.

Cas hums.

‘I didn’t know if you’d kept it.’

‘Of course I did.’ Cas’s brow furrows. ‘You said I should, and I don’t have many things.’ He turns the tape over in his hands. ‘Besides, you made this for me.’ He looks up at Dean with those penetrating eyes that never fail to make something liquid-hot shoot through Dean.

‘Right.’ Dean’s throat works; he glances around the room. ‘We should probably get you some more stuff, huh? Liven up the place a little.’ He runs a hand over the back of his neck and takes half a step away. Cas is still frowning up at him; Dean rests a hand on Cas’s shoulder and squeezes. ‘Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.’

Cas nods and quietly follows Dean to the kitchen.

The scent of grilled meat lingers in the air, and Dean’s stomach growls despite the butterflies flinging themselves around in there. He waves Cas over to the table and grabs the burgers from the counter and two beers from the fridge. The bottles are sweating by the time he sets them down.

Cas snatches the burger up and sinks his teeth into it before Dean even has a chance to sit down.

Dean takes a moment to appreciate the look of pure pleasure on Cas’s face before he says, ‘Might wanna slow down there, tiger. Indigestion’s a thing you’re gonna have to deal with, now.’

Cas sets the burger down, pink tongue darting out to catch the drop of ketchup on his chin. ‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘I didn’t realise how hungry I was until I smelled this. It’s very good.’

Pride wells up in Dean’s chest and he shrugs a shoulder. ‘I know burgers,’ he says, and takes a swig of his beer.

Cas gives him a little smile and bites into his burger again. Pickles splat onto his plate, followed by drops of mustard and ketchup, red and yellow swirling together.

Burgers have always been an easy source of happiness for Dean, and he’s _always_ gotten a kick out of seeing Cas enjoy human things, even when it was sometimes laced with uneasiness. But it’s different seeing Cas enjoy something Dean made _for him_. Even as he was making it, he was practically bouncing, thinking about Cas eating it later. The faces he might make, or the sounds the meal Dean had made for him would elicit. And Cas doesn’t disappoint.

They chat a little as they eat—nothing deep—but Cas is mostly engrossed in enjoying the heck out of his burger. He uses the last of his bun to mop up the ketchup and mustard, then smushes the fallen pickles into it, folding it into a mini-sandwich, and pops it in his mouth.

‘You know, if Sam saw you, he’d say my bad habits were rubbing off on you.’ Dean doesn’t blush at his choice of words but it’s a near thing.

Cas squints across the table. ‘Where is Sam?’

‘In his room.’

‘Is he unwell?’

‘He’s fine.’ Dean shifts in his seat. ‘I, uh, I asked him to eat in there.’ He drinks some beer, avoids Cas’s questioning gaze. Nothing for it. ‘I wanted to talk with you.’

Cas wipes over his mouth and sets his napkin aside. He misses a smear of mustard on his chin. ‘It must be important if you wanted to talk to me alone.’

And does he sound hopeful? Or maybe wary? Has he been waiting for Dean to finally man up and talk? Dean sighs. It’s finally time to speak, but the moments pass, and he stays silent.

It’s not until Cas says, ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you, too,’ that Dean finds his voice.

He lets out a soft breath, shoulders sagging. ‘Oh, cool, you go first.’

‘It can wait.’

‘It’s fine, you should—’

‘Dean.’

Dean nods. He drinks some beer, takes another moment to gather himself, and decides he’s just going to start talking and hope for the best. But as he opens his mouth, he thinks of Cas sitting in his spartan room, and how sad it made him, and ends up blurting, ‘I don’t want you staying in that room.’ Which, shit, that’s not where he’d wanted to start. He’d meant to start with _I love you, too_ or, at least, _I want to kiss you_ and then work up to this.

A look of pure devastation crumples Cas’s face, twisting in Dean’s chest. He shouldn’t ever look like that. ‘But you…’ Cas licks his lips. ‘You just said we should get more things—’

‘Shit, no, damn it.’ Dean runs a hand over his face and huffs out a shaky laugh. It doesn’t ease Cas, so Dean waves a hand at him and says, ‘That came out wrong. I didn’t mean I want you to go.’ Like _hell_ he’s letting Cas go again.

‘I don’t understand.’

Dean groans. He may not have meant to talk about this now, but he started it, so he has to finish it. ‘I want you with me.’

Cas’s eyes narrow and his head tilts. ‘I am with you.’

‘No, I mean…in my room.’ Dean clears his throat. He’s doing this all backwards. First, you kiss the guy, then you ask him to move in. But, then again, they’re not exactly the model for conventionality. ‘I mean, no sense in washing two sets of sheets, right?’ _Stop deflecting, Winchester_. He shakes his head. ‘I just…I want you to move into my room. With me.’ He glances up at Cas. ‘Unless you want your own space?’

Cas’s mouth opens and closes.

‘So,’ Dean says, ‘what do you say?’

‘I—’ Cas lets out a long breath, smiling one of his rare, big, gummy smiles. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Great.’ They hold each other’s gaze in that way they do, until Dean licks his lips and says, ‘We can move your stuff after I’ve washed up.’

‘Well, it won’t take long to move my things,’ Cas says around a wry smile.

‘Fine by me, the sooner the better.’ Dean flushes, but he doesn’t regret his eagerness being out there, not when Cas is staring up at him like _that_. ‘And like I said, we’ll get you more things.’ He stands, moving around the table to clear Cas’s plate, but pauses by his shoulder.

Instead of reaching for the plate, he wraps his arm around Cas’s chest, leaning down, lips brushing the top of his head. His hair is soft and smells like Dean’s shampoo. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Cas’s hand comes up to curl around his wrist, but Dean is already moving away, grabbing Cas’s plate and taking it to the sink.

‘Dean,’ Cas says. Dean turns, heart pounding harder than John Bonham on “Moby Dick”. Cas stands, moving over to Dean. ‘I’ll help you.’

‘OK,’ Dean says, ‘I’ll wash, you can dry.’

‘I can wash. I want to help.’ And Cas might not say it, but Dean hears _I want to be helpful_.

For a moment, Dean thinks of letting it drop. It’s not like Cas _said_ anything. But Dean’s let too many things drop in the past, so he says, ‘You don’t gotta be helpful, OK? You just have to be here. If that’s what you want.’

‘More than anything.’

‘Right.’ Dean clears his throat and shoves a clean dish towel at Cas. ‘You’re drying.’

Water rushes from the faucet, filling the sink. Suds foam up as Dean squirts a liberal amount of dish soap in, then he shuts the faucet off and starts scrubbing.

‘So, what did you want to talk about?’ Dean asks, passing Cas a plate.

‘It doesn’t matter, now.’

Dean flicks suds at him. ‘C’mon, spill.’

Cas wipes his face, giving Dean a long suffering look. But then he ducks his gaze, shifting his weight. ‘I was going to ask if I should find somewhere of my own, now that everything with Chuck is over. But your offer makes it irrelevant.’

A wave of cold washes over Dean. ‘That what you want?’ He doesn’t look at Cas, scrubbing harder than he needs to. ‘To leave?’

‘No, of course not. I— I’ve told you, Dean. I want to be here with you. I just wasn’t sure if—’

‘Good,’ Dean says, ‘because I ain’t letting you go again.’ It comes out fiercer than he’d meant it to but he doesn’t care.

Cas’s brows are raised, but he looks pleased beneath the surprise. ‘I suppose it’s good I’m not planning on going anywhere.’ His lips quirk.

‘Yeah.’ Warmth suffuses Dean, chasing out the wave of cold; he bites his lip and says, ‘And, anyway, I need someone to test my cooking on.’

Cas hums, taking the second plate from Dean. ‘Of course.’ His eyes are actually _twinkling_.

The smear of mustard is still on his chin and, without thinking, Dean reaches out and wipes it away. At Cas’s questioning look, Dean says, ‘You had some mustard.’

‘Oh.’ Cas rubs his chin with the back of his hand.

Dean’s gaze trails up from Cas’s chin to his mouth. He leans in, thinks Cas leans in, too, and fuck he’s wanted this for so long. He shuffles closer and—

‘Hey, is it safe to come in?’ Sam pops his head around the door frame.

Dean’s hands clench. ‘Yep.’ He curses under his breath, then turns around and says, ‘Actually, you know what, you can finish the dishes.’ He wipes his hands and grabs Cas’s wrist. ‘Cas and I are moving his things into my room.’

Sam’s brows shoot up. ’I—’ He looks between Dean and Cas, mouth hanging open, until he finally says, ’That’s great,’ giving them this big goofy smile.

‘I’m definitely pleased about it,’ Cas says.

‘Yeah, we’re all pleased’—Dean tugs on Cas’s wrist—‘so, let’s go get it sorted.’ He fixes Sam with a look and says, ‘Make sure you don’t leave the dishes to air dry. They get water stains.’

Sam rolls his eyes, muttering something about how he can handle some dishes.

But Dean barely hears him as he tugs Cas down the hall, letting his hand slide down to tangle their fingers together. ‘Hey, you still sleep on the left side of the bed?’

If Cas is surprised Dean knows his sleeping habits, he doesn’t show it, only says, ‘Yes.’

‘Great. Guess that makes us a good match.’

Cas smiles and says, ‘It does,’ squeezing Dean’s hand tight.

Dean lets their hands swing between them, and if there’s a bounce in his step as he drags Cas to his room to get his things, well only Cas is there to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :D
> 
> And thank you so so much to everyone who has read/commented/kudos’s so far! I’m so chuffed that people are enjoying reading this as much as I’m enjoying writing it (even if it’s making me really hungry haha)


	3. apple pie

There’s pastry under Dean’s nails and in the creases of his fingers; about half a bag of flour is dumped on the counter, spilling onto the floor and puffing up in little eddies when Dean moves. The rest of the flour has ended up on Dean.

But the rolling pin is smooth beneath his hands and the pastry is mostly staying together as he rolls it out to a consistent thickness. And with Boston playing on his beat up boom box, there’s something calming about the whole process. Sprinkle flour on the rolling pin when the pastry gets stuck, keep rolling, sprinkle flour, keep rolling. Hum along to the song playing. Keep rolling. It’s almost enough to keep his brain from buzzing with all the thoughts he’s tried to push away.

His nose itches—he’s probably snorted a few ounces of flour—and he ducks his face into his bicep to try to stop it. When he drops his arm, a flash in his peripheral vision makes him tense. His fingers tighten around the rolling pin. Old habits.

But it’s just Cas, leaning in the doorway, one of those mysterious little smiles playing on his lips.

‘Shit.’ Dean’s shoulders slump; he rests a hand on his hip, but the flour from his fingers is a barely noticeable addition to the mess all over him. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

‘Obviously.’

‘You know, I thought that’—Dean waves a hand—‘was just an angel thing.’

‘What?’

‘You sneaking around.’

Cas’s eyes narrow. His arms are folded over his chest. ‘I don’t sneak.’

Dean hums. ‘How long you been standing there, anyway?’

‘A while.’ Cas pushes away from the doorway, coming over to the counter. ‘I like watching you.’

Warmth suffuses Dean, starting in the centre of his chest and spreading out. This is usually where he’d tell Cas watching people is creepy, or something like that. But the thing is, it’s never felt creepy when Cas watches him. Uncomfortable and often too much, but not _creepy_.

‘What are you making?’ Cas pokes at the pastry, leaving a fingertip indent in it.

Dean bats his hand away, glaring up at him. A smear of white is left on the back of Cas’s hand; he wipes it off on the pair of Dean’s old jeans he’s wearing. Dean tries not to think about Cas wearing his clothes, then remembers he doesn’t have to not-think about it now, and rolls the pastry until it’s smooth again. ‘I’m making an apple pie.’

‘Can I help?’

‘Uh.’ Dean blinks. ‘You can cut up the apples.’ He nods at a pot filled with water, where some apples are bobbing around. Their white exposed flesh looks somehow unsettling. ‘I already peeled ‘em while I was waiting for the pastry to chill.’

‘Why did the pastry need to chill?’ Cas picks up an apple, looking around.

Dean nudges a cutting board and knife over to him. ‘Maybe it was angry.’

Cas raises his brows. ‘The pastry was angry?’

‘Yeah, you know, that’s why it had to chill.’ At Cas’s blank look, Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. ‘Whatever. No one appreciates my jokes.’

‘I appreciate your jokes, Dean’—Cas’s lips twitch—‘when they’re funny.’

‘Just…cut the apples. Damn smartass.’

For all Cas is a badass with an angel blade, the first couple of apples end up cut into awkward-sized chunks rather than slices. But he gets the hang of it, the soft thunk of the knife hitting the cutting board punctuating the comfortable silence between them. His hands are sure and steady and really, really _nice_.

Dean rips his gaze away, concentrates on rolling out the pastry. It tears a little, but it’s an easy fix, and it doesn’t take him long to finish. He wipes his hands off and carefully lifts the pastry onto the pie dish. It doesn’t quite fill it to the edges, so he stretches it around a little, patching up any holes with cutoffs, until he shrugs and figures it’ll do.

By the time he’s got the base sorted, Cas is only halfway through the apples. If the way he ducks his gaze is anything to go by, he was probably watching Dean again. Dean smiles and reaches over, taking the knife from him.

Cas huffs. ‘I can cut the apples.’

‘Yeah, you’re doing great, slow poke.’

‘I am not a “slow poke”.’

An apology trips to the tip of Dean’s tongue, but Cas looks more amused than anything, so Dean just shakes his head and hip checks Cas out of the way so he can finish cutting the apples. Despite his protest, Cas only quietly watches Dean, snatching a slice or two to munch on when he thinks Dean isn’t looking.

Fuck. It’s so…so _normal_. Dean doesn’t know how they’ve gone from the end of the world—again—to this. But…that’s kind of always been their thing. These weird moments of normalcy between all the shit. Well, moments of what’s normalcy for most people, among their _own_ fucked up brand of normal.

Dean tosses the apple slices in the sugar and cinnamon and flour he’d mixed earlier, then dumps them into the pie dish. He moves them around until they’re sitting right and then puts the lid on. It ends up a bit lumpy and looking like a patchwork quilt, but hopefully it’ll taste fine.

Cas watches quietly as Dean bastes the crust and sprinkles it with sugar and presses the edges together with a fork. There’s pastry left over, so Dean rolls it out, cutting shapes with the knife he’d used to slice the apples, then carefully placing them on top.

They spell out C-A-S. ‘What do you think?’ Dean turns the pie around.

‘Did you make this for me?’

‘Yeah.’ Dean shrugs. ‘I mean, you’re not eating the _whole_ thing, but…yeah.’ He puts the pie in the oven and when he straightens up, he comes face to face with Cas. ‘Dude, you’re going to give me a heart attack.’

Cas looks troubled, frowning at Dean, and Dean’s pulse skips because just a moment ago he looked so content.

‘Everything OK?’

‘You don’t have to keep making food for me.’

Dean shifts his weight. ‘You planning on going on a hunger strike?’

‘No, I meant—’ Cas looks off to the side, then back up at Dean. ‘You look after everyone. You always have. You don’t have to look after me.’

Fuck, Dean hopes Cas isn’t saying he doesn’t _want_ Dean to— He crosses his arms over his chest. ‘Jeez, Cas, it’s just a pie.’

‘You shouldn’t feel obligated—’

‘ _Cas_.’ Dean tips his head back. ‘Look, I’m not doing this because I feel _obligated_. I like it.’ He sighs. ‘I— It’s fun. And it’s nice to make something for a change.’ _Instead of breaking everything_. Dean licks his lips. ‘I like doing it.’ _I like looking after you, let me look after you._

Cas tilts his head, pinning Dean with that scrutinising gaze of his. Eventually his expression clears and he simply says, ‘Oh,’ like it’s surprising someone might enjoy doing something for him, or that Dean, in particular, might enjoy it.

‘Yeah.’ Dean shifts again, feeling the weight of unsaid words resting heavily in his chest. ‘And you— I mean, you like this, you want this, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ Dean’s heart beats hard. They’ve been sharing his bed, his room, for two nights and he still hasn’t said— ’Because I’ve been thinking and…you should have what you want.’ He pauses. ‘Maybe just…take it. Because I want— I _want_.’

Cas’s breath catches. His gaze searches Dean’s face, and then his hands come up to cup Dean’s jaw. It’s going to happen. Finally. But he doesn’t kiss Dean like Dean expected him, too. Instead, he tilts Dean’s head down, pressing his mouth to Dean’s forehead.

It’s gentle and tender and it leaves Dean unmoored. ‘Cas…’

Cas tips Dean’s face back, thumbs brushing his cheeks. He presses a kiss below Dean’s eye, one to the hinge of his jaw. Dean’s skin burns. One to the corner of his mouth. And then, finally, their lips meet.

It’s soft but kind of intense. But, then, it’s not like Dean expected kissing Cas to be anything less than. It’s good, though, damn is it good. Not just because it’s _Cas_ but because Cas is a good kisser and he kisses Dean with as much focus as he does everything. It leaves Dean breathless and hoping he’s making Cas feel the same.

They break apart, lips shining and, yeah, Cas looks as dazed as Dean feels. Dean has one hand on Cas’s hip, the other braced on the counter behind him. The counter he hasn’t wiped down. So, when he brings his hand up to Cas’s face, he leaves a floury handprint on his cheek. It breaks the bubble of tension in Dean’s chest and he bites his lip against a laugh. At Cas’s questioning look, he says, ‘You got a little—’ He brushes his hand over Cas’s face, but it only makes it worse and he chuckles.

Cas wipes at his cheek; he glares at the streak of white on his palm. ‘Did you just put flour all over me?’

‘It’s not _all_ over you,’ Dean says, ‘and it wasn’t on purpose.’

But Cas narrows his eyes and reaches behind Dean, bringing back a palmful of flour which he rubs into Dean’s neck, and down his chest.

‘Hey! Not cool.’

Cas’s eyes are dark but there’s a twinkle in them when he says, ‘I was simply making us even.’

‘Oh, we’re not even, yet.’ Dean reaches behind him, grabbing some more flour, and dumping it on Cas on purpose this time.

‘ _Dean_.’

Dean grins, Cas glowers, and then it’s a blur of scrambling hands and clouds of flour puffing up around them.

Mercifully, there’s not a whole lot of flour left, but they end up completely covered, anyway, doubled over in laughter, barely holding each other up. Dean aches all over but it’s nice to ache from laughing for a change.

‘You know,’ Dean says, between gasping breaths, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh like this.’ It’s awesome, and Dean wants to see it all the time, hear Cas’s laugh, _make_ Cas laugh. He straightens up a little, one arm still around Cas’s waist. ‘Except when I made you watch _Blazing Saddles_ and I thought you were gonna pee your pants.’

‘I have better bladder control than that,’ Cas says, and it’s not even funny but it sets Dean off again and Cas soon follows.

Once their laughter subsides again, Cas says, ‘I’m not sure I’ve seen you laugh like this for a long time, either. It’s nice.’ He reaches out, hand curling around Dean’s wrist.

‘Yeah.’ Dean feels goofy, grinning at Cas with the both of them covered in flour, but he feels lighter than he maybe ever has. Still giddy, he slips his arms around Cas’s waist and kisses him again and Cas kisses him back.

‘I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,’ Dean says.

Cas blinks, but his surprise melts into a pleased smile.

And everything feels too much, for a moment, so Dean pulls Cas into a tight hug. Cas sighs, hands spreading over Dean’s shoulder blades, his face fitting into the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean barely even thinks how ridiculous they must look, hugging in the kitchen, covered in flour. It just feels too _good_ and he’s ached with wanting this and, for once, he doesn’t feel bad about that. He holds Cas a moment longer, before he finally steps out of his embrace.

‘I should probably clean the kitchen up.’

Cas nods. ‘I’ll help.’

They work mostly in silence, moving comfortably around each other, and once they’re done they get changed into clean clothes and end up having time to watch dumb videos on Dean’s tablet while they wait for the pie to be done.

When the timer on the oven dings, Dean grabs the pair of red oven-mitts slung over the handle and slides the tray out. Heat hits him in the face, bringing the scent of apple and cinnamon and his mouth waters. The pie crust is golden brown and flaky and admittedly as uneven as it had looked when Dean put it in the oven. He sets the pie dish on the cooling rack Mrs Butters had dug out and says, ‘So, how’s it look?’ to Cas.

Cas comes to stand beside Dean, warm at his side. ‘Well…’

‘That bad, huh?’

‘Not at all. It looks better than the birthday cake you made for Jack.’

‘Thanks.’ Dean huffs and turns around to face Cas. ‘Wait, he told you about that?’

‘He sent me a photo.’

Warmth rises up behind Dean’s ribs and he smiles. ‘Of course he did.’

Cas ducks his gaze, the corners of his mouth turning down. ‘I miss him.’

A pang shoots through Dean. He misses Jack, too, deeply. But the worst of it was telling Cas, filling him in on what went down with Chuck. Cas had looked so proud and so bereft all at once. Dean swallows against the lump in his throat and says, ‘Yeah, so do I.’ He waits a beat, then says, ‘You wanna talk about it?’

‘Not— Not right now. But thank you.’

Dean nods, not trusting his voice. He squeezes Cas’s arm and sucks in a deep breath before he says, ‘So, wanna try this pie?’

‘Yes,’ Cas says, ‘thank you.’

Dean cuts three slices—‘Text Sammy and tell him there’s pie and he’d better be quick about it or I’ll eat his share’—and then, after a moment of hesitation, cuts an extra one, then brings them over to the table.

‘Who’s the fourth slice for?’ Cas asks around a mouthful. ‘This is very good, by the way.’

Pride wells up in Dean’s chest at the compliment, hotter than the freshly baked pie. He settles beside Cas, stabbing his fork into his own slice—Cas is right, it is good—and says, ‘This one’s for Jack.’

Cas pauses, swallowing thickly. His voice is a little rough when he says, ‘I’m sure he’d love it, too.’

‘Yeah, he would.’

They eat in silence until Sam comes in, claiming his own slice, and then the three of them eat together, reminiscing about Jack, and times before him, and when Sam coos at the way Cas is holding Dean’s hand, Dean asks Sam about Eileen, revelling in the way Sam blushes.

Sam murmurs something about asking her to stay for a few days, and then tells Dean the pie is really good.

‘It is,’ Cas says, squeezing Dean’s hand. ‘You’re very good at this, Dean.’

‘I—’ Dean rubs his free hand over the back of his neck. ‘Thanks.’

Cas smiles at him, fond and open, and Dean’s stomach goes warm. He shoves another forkful of pie into his mouth, ignoring the goofy grin Sam shoots them across the table, chewing forcefully against the rush of emotions.

And maybe the base of the pie is a little doughy, and there’s too much cinnamon and not enough sugar, but Dean’s pretty sure it’s the best damn pie he’s ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> I think this fic is getting more self indulgent by the chapter XD but hopefully it’s indulging some of you, too


	4. pizza night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that the background relationship is Saileen! Which was probably obvious after the mention of her in the last chapter but just in case.

Dean has spent most of the past half-hour watching Cas watching _For a Few Dollars More_. It’s one of Dean’s favourites, but he can’t stop looking at Cas, cataloguing his reactions, relishing the chance to just look at him when they’re not caught in a staring match or there’s no impending doom weighing them down.

The coloured lights in the beer kegs suspended from the ceiling are washed out by the main lights, but they play over the planes of Cas’s face, catch in his eyes all the same. Cas’s lips twitch, his eyes crinkle, and Dean’s pulse skips. He thinks about kissing him, then remembers Sam and Eileen are curled up on the opposite couch.

The La-Z-Boys are long gone from the Dean Cave, swapped out for a pair of matching plaid two-seaters, and there’s even a coffee table. It’s a cocktail arcade machine Dean converted into a coffee table—still playable—but it’s a coffee table. Dean has a coffee table, now, and…whatever Cas is to him.

Dean frowns and glances at Eileen and Sam. Eileen has her head tucked under Sam’s chin, and Sam’s arm is tight around her waist. They look good together. Happy. Dean smiles because if anyone deserves to be happy and safe and watching movies with their family, it’s them.

But the sight of them tangles in Dean’s chest, too. Makes longing well up in him. Should he throw his arm around Cas? Should he lean into him, or maybe pull Cas against his side?

Fuck. Dean runs a hand over his face and reaches for a slice of one of the homemade pizzas crammed onto the coffee table. They’re a little experimental because Dean let Cas choose the toppings and he’d gone for olive and pineapple on one and pepperoni and fucking _broccoli_ on the other. It had taken all of Dean’s strength not to lose it because, really, broccoli? But it’s what Cas wanted, so Dean let him, no matter how much it had pained him. He’d snuck in a plain cheese, though, so Sam and Eileen would have something normal to eat.

Beside him, Cas is happily munching on his slice of pepperoni and broccoli. He’s alternating between little nibbles, and cheek-filling bites like he can’t decide what kind of eater he is, this time around. It should be disgusting, watching Cas eating that monstrosity, but it only makes Dean’s heart do this annoying, awesome little pitter-patter.

‘I thought you wanted to watch this movie, Dean,’ Cas says, the low murmur of his voice startling in the relative quiet.

‘Uh, yeah?’

‘Then why have you been watching me the whole time, instead?’

Shit. Busted. ‘I haven’t…’ Dean clears his throat. He resists the urge to look at Sam, who had let out a soft snort and who, Dean knows without looking, is smirking, and clears his throat. ‘How’s the pizza?’

Cas turns to him, then, still chewing. ‘It’s good.’

‘Good.’ Dean licks his lips. There’s a smudge of sauce at the corner of Cas’s mouth, and Dean reaches out to wipe it away.

But before he can, Sam mutters, ‘Shit,’ and Dean turns a glare on him. Sam is gingerly scooping up some cheese from the couch.

‘Dude,’ Dean says, ‘careful with the upholstery.’

Sam’s brows shoot up; he sets the pizza down, then wipes his hands with a napkin. ‘If you didn’t dump an entire block of cheese on the pizza, maybe I wouldn’t have dropped any. Should you be eating this much dairy, anyway?’

‘You saying I used too much cheese?’

‘A little, yeah.’

Eileen frowns up at Sam, and Sam apologises and then explains to her. Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. ‘Sam! There’s no such thing as too much cheese.’ She turns to Dean and adds, ‘The pizza is great.’

Dean grins and sends her a wink. ‘A woman after my own heart.’

‘Thanks for making it for us.’

‘That’s OK.’ Dean pauses a moment and then signs, ‘Cas helped.’

Both Eileen and Sam look surprised. ‘Since when do you know ASL?’ Sam asks.

‘Since, uh…’ Dean pauses again, glances sidelong at Cas who gives him an encouraging nod, and hopes he manages to say something like, ‘Cas is teaching me,’ his hands still clumsy around the unfamiliar movements.

No one laughs, so he must have got it right. Eileen is smiling and Sam looks all misty-eyed, and it’s not a big deal but there’s a lump in Dean’s throat and a prickling in his eyes.

‘Yeah, so now you two’—he waggles a finger at Sam and Eileen—‘can’t have secret conversations about how awesome I am, anymore.’

Sam rolls his eyes, though he’s smiling, and Eileen laughs. ‘That’s a pity,’ she says. ‘We’ll have to come up with a code, or something.’

Dean huffs and ducks his gaze. He’s glad that Eileen is joking with him, though has a feeling Sam will get all sentimental about this later. But Eileen is part of their family, now, and it felt wrong—rude—not to learn, no matter how clumsy he is with it.

And it’s nice, being taught by Cas. They haven’t had much time, yet, but Cas is patient and doesn’t laugh too much when Dean fucks up and he guides Dean’s hands in a way Dean is sure isn’t necessary but Dean isn’t going to complain about. And Cas has such beautiful expressive hands.

Dean looks down to where Cas has one hand resting on his thigh and Dean reaches out, thinking only how he wants so badly to hold Cas’s hand, but then he notices Eileen looking over at them and he freezes. It doesn’t make sense because Eileen knows, and Dean is fine with that. He felt a bit awkward when she had seen Cas coming out of his—their—room and asked about it but he was _fine_ with it.

For some reason, though, Dean can’t bring himself to hold Cas’s hand, now.

Eileen’s smile fades and she slowly looks away, frowning at the television.

Dean curls his hand over his knee, digging his fingers in. He’s not sure if Cas noticed his aborted movement, or not, but there is something to the set of his shoulders and the way his mouth has turned down that pitches in Dean’s stomach.

The cold beer Dean chugs to distract himself sits uneasily on top of the pizza, and he could chalk it up to Sam being right, that he shouldn’t be eating so much cheese, but he knows it’s nothing to do with food.

He lets his knee rest against Cas’s, and that doesn’t make him feel weird, but he still can’t hold his hand.

This is _stupid_. Dean steels himself to reach out but then Sam gives a jaw-cracking yawn and it stills his hand again. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam signing something to Eileen, and she nods, pushing off of the couch.

‘We should probably head to bed,’ Sam says, tapping his watch, ‘we’ve got an early start.’

‘Yeah,’ Dean says, ‘you two kids have fun,’ and sends them a wink. They’re driving back to Eileen’s in the morning, but they’re taking their time, making a trip out of it. It’s still so weird to Dean that they have time to do things like that, now, but a good weird.

As they pass the couch, Dean stands, hugging first Sam, then Eileen, wishing them a good trip.

Cas does the same, then stiffly sits again, as they leave the room.

Once they’re out of sight, Dean sits, letting his arm drape over the back of the couch behind Cas’s shoulders, but Cas doesn’t lean back like Dean had hoped he would. He’s frowning, not looking at Dean, and it curdles in Dean’s stomach.

‘Why did you wait until Sam and Eileen were gone to do that?’

Dean’s hand twitches. ‘Do what?’

‘You know.’

‘I—’ Dean starts to draw his arm away, the fabric of the couch rough beneath his fingers. But Cas turns, grabbing Dean’s arm, holding him fast. Dean thinks about bluffing, maybe telling Cas it’s too hard to eat pizza with one hand, but he doesn’t want to do that shit anymore, so he says, ‘I don’t know.’

Cas lets Dean’s arm go and turns away again. ‘If you didn’t want Eileen to know, you could have told me.’

‘What? No, I— Cas, if I didn’t want her to know I would’ve said we should sleep in separate rooms, made sure Sammy didn’t say anything.’ Dean runs a hand over his face. ‘She’s family. I’m good with her knowing.’

‘Then what’s wrong?’ Cas fixes Dean with a piercing look. ‘And don’t tell me nothing. I know you better than that.’

‘I just…got spooked.’

‘Why?’

The words are there, caught at the back of Dean’s throat, but they’re jumbled and stuck and he can’t make them come out. ‘Fuck, I wish you could still do your Vulcan mind meld thing.’

For a moment Cas looks stricken, murmuring, ‘I’m sorry,’ and Dean reaches out, curling his fingers around his wrist.

‘Hey, I didn’t mean…’ Dean sucks in a breath. ‘I just meant, I’m shit at talking, at least when it matters, and it would be easier if I could dump everything in my brain into yours.’ Cas nods; Dean rubs his thumb over Cas’s pulse. ‘Do you miss it?’

Cas doesn’t ask what Dean means, only says, ‘Maybe, sometimes. I’m still adjusting,’ but he doesn’t sound like he regrets it, and it eases a little of the tension in Dean.

‘Yeah.’ Dean chews on his lip. His hand falls from Cas’s arm. ‘That’s…that’s kinda my issue, too, I think.’ At Cas’s look, Dean shakes his head and says, ‘Not you being human. I mean adjusting to this. Us.’ His heart beats hard and his head feels a little light. ‘I never felt like I could be open about this. And I guess I’m still kinda stuck there.’

‘You felt like you couldn’t be open about us?’

‘No. Well, maybe.’ It’s one of those things Dean’s always let rest unsaid, something implied and sometimes understood, but never spoken. ‘It’s… I meant, you know, the guy thing.’ Fuck, he still can’t even _say_ it, at his age.

Cas’s eyes narrow for a moment, then his expression clears like he’s seeing through Dean in that way only he can. ‘Oh.’ He ducks his gaze. ‘So it’s not…me.’

‘ _No_.’ Dean is breathless and his face is warm but he makes himself say, ‘Not even a little.’

‘That’s good to know.’ Cas smiles and reaches out, the back of his knuckles grazing Dean’s cheek. His brow furrows. ‘You’re very warm. Are you unwell?’ He shifts, pressing the back of his hand firmly to Dean’s forehead.

‘No, I’m not sick.’ Dean bats his hand away, warmth crawling up his throat. ‘I’m—’

‘You’re what?’

‘Embarrassed. I’m embarrassed, OK?’

‘Why?’

‘Because—’

‘Dean?’

‘ _Because_ I’m forty-one and I can’t even hold my boyfriend’s hand in front of my family.’ And, fuck, he just called Cas his boyfriend, which is kind of weird but mostly because he feels too old for words like ‘boyfriend’ and because Cas used to be a freaking _angel_. ‘I just…I don’t have the best track record in the romance department. I don’t want to fuck it up.’

Cas is smiling wider, now, even as he shakes his head and looks away. There’s an awful silence for a few moments before he says, ‘You let me choose the pizza toppings.’

Dean blinks. What the fuck? Cas might be human, now, but he’s still weird and sometimes impossible to keep up with. Dean likes it, likes being kept on his toes, but right now he wants to be on steady ground. ‘What?’

‘Putting broccoli on pizza is unconventional.’

‘That’s one word for it.’

‘But you let me do it.’

‘Yeah…’ The cogs of Dean’s brain are working overtime, but the penny refuses to drop. ‘Look, I think you’re gonna have to be a bit more straightforward with what you’re getting at here because I’m lost.’

‘You can be a bit of a…’ Cas squints as he trails off. ‘A “control freak” about food—’

‘Hey!’

‘—but you let me choose the pizza toppings.’ Cas picks up a piece of pizza, studying it like it’s some fascinating specimen. He turns to Dean. ‘Why?’

‘Because you wanted to?’ When Cas gives Dean a look that seems to say “ _What else?”_ , Dean shrugs and adds, ‘I don’t know. You seemed happy about it?’

Cas’s lips twitch. ‘You wanted to make me happy. And feel at home.’

‘I guess.’

‘And that mattered more to you than if Sam or Eileen thought it was weird. Or if putting pizza on broccoli is unconventional.’

It takes a few more moments before Cas’s words sink in and Dean is able to connect the dots. He sighs and shakes his head. ‘It’s just _pizza_ , Cas. That’s different.’

‘Maybe.’ Cas lifts his shoulders and takes a bite of the pizza. ‘But it’s a start.’

Dean huffs.

‘And I don’t exactly have the best track record with relationships either. And I don’t know what I’m doing, but I don’t care if you don’t want to hold my hand when—’

‘I do!’ Dean lets out a breath and repeats, quieter, ‘I do. I just gotta get used to it.’ Get used to being allowed to have this.

‘So do I.’

Dean chews on his lip. ‘So, you’re saying we’re both shit at this?’

‘No.’ Cas rolls his eyes and nudges Dean’s knee, a gesture that’s a little stiff but entirely human. ‘We’re both learning.’

‘I—’ Dean lets out a shaky breath. ‘Yeah, OK, I can work with that.’

‘Good.’ Something simmers between them but the awkwardness from before has melted away, leaving only a slowly unspooling warmth in Dean’s gut. Cas nods at the television. ‘Do you want to finish watching the movie?’

‘Yeah.’

They settle back, and this time Dean doesn’t hesitate in throwing his arm around Cas’s shoulders, pulling him tight to his side. It feels so good and it’s easy to relax into it, let the familiar movie and the warmth of Cas ease him. ‘Hey, Cas, can I ask you something?’

‘Anything.’

Dean clears his throat. ‘Did you actually want to try the broccoli on the pizza, or did you just do it to see if I’d let you?’

Cas chuckles, barely audible, but his shoulders move under Dean’s arm. ‘I did wonder if you’d let me, but I wanted to know what it would taste like.’ He tilts his head. ‘It was good.’

‘You’re still so damn weird, you know that, right?’ Dean snorts and then, without thinking, adds, ‘But I love you, anyway.’ And, yeah, he hadn’t meant for it to just slip out like that. He’d wanted the first time he said those words to be momentous, special. Not something that slipped out while they’re watching television.

Cas tenses. He turns, slowly, pushing himself up so he’s got one leg tucked under him and he’s facing Dean. His eyes are wide and shining his voice is rough when he says, ‘You what?’

Dean swallows thickly. ‘You heard me.’

Cas keeps looking at Dean in this way Dean doesn’t get, and that’s terrifying, but Cas said it first, so… And then Cas finally cracks a smile, and Dean breathes. It’s always like the first time, seeing Cas smile, Dean thinks absently, but then Cas leans in and kisses him and he stops thinking.

It’s slow and hot and he’s slowly pressing forward, crowding Dean into the corner of the couch, leaving him breathless. Cas pulls away but stays close enough that they’re sharing breaths, their lips still brushing. His eyes are dark and searching. It looks like he might want to say something but after a moment he rests his head against Dean’s, their noses brushing.

It’s almost too much so Dean kisses Cas again. Briefer and sweeter. ‘Your weirdo pizza’s gonna be cold,’ he says when they part.

‘You’re a very ridiculous man, sometimes, Dean Winchester,’ Cas says, ‘but I love you, too.’

‘That’s good.’

Cas hums, sounding so damn content Dean might burst with it. ‘Now,’ Cas says, ‘do you want to watch the movie and finish the pizza, or do you want to stare at me all night?’

‘Hey, you do your fair share of staring, too!’

Cas actually _grins_ , settling himself back against Dean and pulling Dean’s arm around his shoulder. It’s a little hesitant, so Dean squeezes his shoulder and Cas relaxes. Without moving from Dean’s side, Cas grabs a slice of pizza for himself and shoves one at Dean. Dean is too stunned to notice what’s on it until he’s bitten into it and gotten a mouthful of broccoli.

It’s as weird as Dean had thought it’d be but he eats it, anyway, watching the movie and pulling Cas even closer against his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True love is letting your boyfriend put broccoli on the pizza (I mean, there are probably weirder things to put on pizza, but this is Dean! That’s huge! Haha)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Sorry it took a bit longer to get this chapter up - I fell into a slump and just really struggled to get anything done but this done, now! That’s also why Eileen and Sam kinda disappear so quickly - I also really struggle writing more than two people in a scene, but I still wanted them to have a movie night together :D
> 
> Full disclosure: I’m not d/Deaf and I don’t know ASL, so I started reading up a bit because I wanted to do it right (and then I crashed and burned as I mentioned above and didn't have time to learn what I wanted Dean to try to say) but here’s [one of the links I found](https://thecaffeinebookwarrior.tumblr.com/post/173157947200/resources-for-writing-deaf-mute-or-blind) for resources (I misplaced the others) and I just realised I don't remember if Dean ever signs in the show because I mainlined like 4 or 5 seasons in 2 months to catch up last year and yeah, so...oops if I've forgotten something. Oh but Cas teaching him was inspired by this really cute Saileen art of Cas helping Sam with ASL but I didn't reblog it so can't find it again (if I do, I'll link it)
> 
> Anyway, I think these notes are long enough haha I guess feel free to come find me on tumblr - my main blog [gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) has very little SPN but I started another blog [ersatzangel](http://ersatzangel.tumblr.com/) to just reblog a bunch of SPN stuff (...please don't mind the username, I was stuck and for some reason all I could think of was that shirt in "Dark SIde of the Moon" haha)


	5. spaghetti and meatballs

Candlelight dances across the tablecloth Dean had dug out and draped neatly over the end of the war room table. Well, it’s technically a tarpaulin, and he doesn’t want to know what the Men of Letters used it for, but it was the best he could find that wasn’t bedsheets.

He hopes the room seems more intimate and less like, well, a war room. He’d thought about setting up on the table down in the kitchen, but it seemed too casual. For a hot moment, he’d also considered springing for a booking at a fancy restaurant, but that wouldn’t have been casual enough. And he wants to be able to talk to Cas without a waiter in a monkey suit breathing down their necks. So, the war room seemed like the best bet.

The candles are stuck in beer bottles and there are some flowers in an empty bottle of Jack. He’d second guessed the flowers a few times because it seemed too girly, but Cas likes flowers, so he left them. They’re drooping a little, looking kind of sad. But there are a few beers in an ice bucket, and the spaghetti he’d cooked smells damn good if he doesn’t say so himself. Everything looks as good as it’s going to get, now all he needs is Cas.

He was reading gardening books, or something, earlier and Dean can’t decide if he wants to go find Cas and do something goofy like blindfold him to draw out the surprise, or just text Cas to meet him down here. It’s just…after blurting out ‘I love you, anyway’ Dean’s wanted to do something special for Cas, talk to him properly about everything, while they’ve got the bunker to themselves. Something…romantic.

He’s not sure if spaghetti is a romantic kind of food, but it’s something he can cook without thinking too much, and his mind’s been buzzing all day with anticipation.

He wipes his hands on his best jeans and gets his phone out. He taps out a quick message, hits send, then regrets it two seconds later. Texting means Dean has to wait for Cas to come here, stewing in suspense, so he heads out and crashes into Cas at the door.

‘There you are.’ It’s a stupid thing to say and Dean runs a hand over the back of his neck.

Cas squints. ‘Yes. You just sent me a text asking me to meet you here.’ He holds up his phone as if to emphasise his point.

‘Heh. Yeah. I did.’

‘Are you OK? You seem…odd.’

‘I’m fine,’ Dean says a little too quickly. He clears his throat and steps back, waving toward the table. ‘Thought you might be hungry?’

Cas nods, seeming to accept the explanation, and moves past Dean. But he stops a few feet from the table, arms hanging by his sides. ‘What’s this?’

‘Dinner?’ Dean clears his throat. ‘It’s…dinner.’

‘Oh.’ Cas blinks a couple of times, taking in the table with the nice plates and flowers and candles. ‘Is there something wrong with the bunker’s lights?’

‘No, it’s…’ Dean’s stomach twists as he comes to stand beside Cas. ‘You know…’ He tries to think of a word that isn’t _romantic_ and comes up with: ‘Mood lighting.’ Not much better. But, then, he doesn’t have to pretend this isn’t what it looks like.

Cas huffs. ‘It was a joke.’

‘Right.’

‘Not a very good one.’ Cas shifts his weight. ‘It looks nice.’

‘Cool.’

Neither of them move. They just stand side by side, staring at the table, and it strikes Dean how bizarre this is. Two men who have fought gods and monsters, who have died more times than anyone should, one of whom used to be an _angel_. And they’re having a _romantic_ dinner together. Or they would be, if either of them would move.

‘We should eat,’ Dean says, ‘before it gets cold.’

‘Yes. It smells good.’

And then they both move at once, heading for the same chair, and end up tangled in an awkward little shuffle, both of them offering the other the chair before Dean all but shoves Cas into it. Cas gives him a look that’s half amused, half annoyed, and Dean’s face is on fucking fire.

He rounds the table and sits opposite Cas, then grabs one of the beers from the ice bucket. The bottle is blessedly cool in his over-warm palms and he pops it and takes a long pull.

Cas is still giving him this amused and _fond_ look from across the table, candlelight making his eyes seem even more otherworldly than usual, but he looks a little nervous, too, and it eases Dean’s own nerves.

Dean pops open another beer and slides it over to Cas.

‘Thank you.’ Cas drinks some beer, then sets the bottle down, fiddling with the label. He looks up at Dean from beneath the sweep of his lashes. ‘Is this some kind of special occasion?’

‘Nah, just thought it’d be nice.’ Dean shoves half a breadstick into his mouth, but his mouth is too dry and it goes down in an almost painful lump.

‘Oh.’ Cas licks his lips. ‘You know, it’s a week since you asked me to move into your room.’ It’s said so offhand that it’s anything but casual.

Dean’s heart kicks. ‘Huh.’

Cas gives him a long look, exhaling in a rush. ‘Dean.’

Heat rushes to Dean’s face; he was hoping Cas wouldn’t make the connection, that he could pretend it was a coincidence. Not make a big deal out of it. ‘OK, so maybe I wanted to celebrate or something.’ He shrugs a shoulder. ‘It’s— I don’t really do anniversaries but I thought it would be…nice.’ He winces. He’s repeating himself.

But Cas only smiles and says, ‘It is nice,’ and ‘thank you,’ before digging into his spaghetti.

‘’S’fine.’ Dean stabs his fork into his spaghetti, twirling until there’s more than one mouthful on it, then tries to shake some off, but it’s too tangled. Fuck it. He shoves the whole lot in his mouth, chewing awkwardly.

Across the table, Cas lets out a soft huff, eyes sparkling.

Dean swallows thickly. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Hm.’

They settle into silence, which reminds Dean he was going to put some music on, but he doesn’t want to get up and do it, now, in case it looks like he’s uncomfortable. ‘The spaghetti good?’ Dean forces himself to ask.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Good.’ Dean chews on his lip, jiggles his knee, glancing up at Cas every so often. ‘So, tell me about those books you were reading, earlier.’

‘You want to talk about gardening?’

‘Sure.’

If Cas is surprised, he doesn’t show it, just launches into a description of something botanical that goes over Dean’s head. Dean is lost in his own thoughts, wondering how he can put everything he wants to say into words, but eventually, he realises Cas has trailed off and is staring at him.

‘Is everything OK?’ Cas asks.

‘Yeah, of course,’ Dean says.

‘You seem distracted.’

‘I’m fine. Just, uh, really interested in…’ Shit, what had Cas been talking about?

Cas sets his fork down; it rests against the plate with a soft clink. ‘Interested in what?’ He raises his brows. ‘What was I talking about?’

‘I… Sorry. Guess I _was_ distracted.’

‘It’s OK. I know you’re not interested in gardening.’

‘No, I am—’ Dean sighs at Cas’s look and says, ‘OK, maybe I’m not. But you are. I’ve just got some other…stuff on my mind.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

 _Yes. Yes. Yes. That was the whole point of this._ ‘It’s fine.’

There are a few moments filled only with forks scraping plates before Cas says, ‘Is it the job application?’ in that same offhand way from before. When Dean just blinks at him, he adds, ‘I saw it on your desk. I wasn’t prying, but I wondered if that was what’s on your mind.’

‘Cas, I left it out on the desk in _our_ room’—Dean blushes—‘it’s not prying if you see it.’

‘You didn’t mention it, so I wasn’t sure,’ Cas says, holding Dean’s gaze.

It stirs in Dean, Cas’s uncertainty, sitting uneasily. ‘I was going to,’ he says, ‘but I felt weird, I guess.’

Cas steeples his fingers, elbows resting on the table. ‘How come?’

‘I don’t know.’ Dean pokes at his food. This was meant to be about Dean finally spilling his guts properly, not talking about jobs and some unknown future. ‘We—me and Sammy and you—we haven’t talked about what’s next. And then there’s my age, I guess. Starting something new, now.’

‘You’re not old, Dean.’

‘Yeah, to you! You’re millennia, dude.’

Cas rolls his eyes. ‘You’re not old by human standards, either. And I think you’d be a good mechanic. You already are.’

‘Thanks.’ Dean ducks his gaze. ‘But, uh, yeah, that’s not what was on my mind. Not tonight, anyway.’

‘Oh?’

Dean’s heart beats hard. He sets his fork down and wipes over his mouth. Nothing for it. ‘I’ve been feeling kinda bad.’

‘About what?’

That’s a loaded question if ever there was one. There are a lot of answers, but only one for tonight. ‘About what you said before…’ Fuck, Dean still can’t talk about it. ‘You know.’

Cas gives him an uncertain look.

‘I mean, not _what_ you said… Fuck, why am I so bad at this?’ Dean shakes his head, looking off to the side.

The tips of Cas’s fingers brush Dean’s knuckles where his fist is resting on the table. It steels him, and he stumbles on:

‘It’s just…you gave me this whole big beautiful’—Dean blushes _again_ —‘speech. And, yeah, you kinda said it when I didn’t have a chance to respond.’ The thought that he might _never_ have got to respond twists in his gut. ‘But everything you said was so…’ He lets out a shaky breath, can’t find a word to encompass how those words had made him feel before he’d realised what was happening. ‘And then there’s me, just blurting my feelings out when we’re watching TV and— I haven’t even been able to say it again. I mean, you deserve more than that.’

‘Dean.’ Cas’s head is tilted to the side—not his confused tilt, but one Dean can only describe as a particular kind of exasperated when he thinks Dean is being too hard on himself. ‘When I came back, I never expected you to say anything.’ He looks down. ‘I never expected, never dreamed, you would feel the same at all.’

‘I know you didn’t.’ And damn if that doesn’t break Dean’s heart. He runs a hand over his face and shifts in his chair. ‘Look, you said I changed you, but you changed me, too, and I need you to know that.’ Another time Cas was on the brink of death and confessing echoes in Dean’s mind. ‘And you once said that knowing me, knowing us, I guess, has been the best part of your life. The same goes for me, OK? Even when it was the worst, it was the best. You know?’

Cas has been silent through all of this, watching Dean, his fingers still touching the back of Dean’s hand. But, now, he simply says, ‘I do.’

Something hisses in Dean’s brain at Cas saying those two words, when they’re having this conversation, but that’s not something he’s going to think about. Not now. Not when he’s not finished. ‘You’re so good, Cas.’ He winces at how pathetic his words are. ‘And I don’t know if I deserve to be—’ _Loved by you_. Dean clears his throat. ‘If I deserve you, but I want to. And that’s what I wanted to say.’

‘You deserve everything, Dean. So much more than I—’

‘Don’t.’ Dean unfurls his fist and slides his hand into Cas’s. ‘Don’t finish that.’ He shakes his head, snorting softly. ‘We’re a couple of self-deprecating bastards, aren’t we?’

Cas looks stunned, but it soon gives way to a crooked smile. ‘I suppose we are.’

They stare at each other a few moments, content to hold each other’s gaze, before Dean says, ‘I just needed you to know that.’ He frowns. ‘Not that we’re a couple of self-deprecating bastards, but the rest of it. OK?’

‘OK.’ Cas squeezes Dean’s hand.

‘Good.’ Dean’s lips twitch and he squeezes Cas’s hand back. ‘You cool with me putting some music on?’

‘That would be nice.’

Dean reluctantly lets go of Cas’s hand and pushes his chair back, slotting another tape he made years ago into his old boombox. Jangling guitar filters out of the speakers, filling up the room. He settles back into his chair intent on appreciating the food, now, and, more importantly, how much Cas seems to be enjoying it.

‘I was too wound up earlier to really enjoy this,’ Cas says, echoing Dean’s thoughts, ‘but now that we’ve talked…’ He stabs his fork into a meatball. ‘It’s very good. I like food.’

Warmth rushes Dean, affection for this impossible, gorgeous man washing over him and filling him up. ‘I can tell,’ he says. His mouth goes hot and dry at the way Cas’s lips wrap around the fork.

And the _sounds_ he’s making.

‘Jeez, Cas, get a room.’

Cas’s gaze snaps up. ‘I don’t want to make love to the spaghetti, Dean.’

The way he emphasises spaghetti hangs between them, makes Dean squirm in his seat against the wave of heat crashing over him. It’s not like Dean hasn’t thought about them together, like that—sans spaghetti—but that’s another thing for later. Hopefully not too much later, but later. ‘Good to know,’ he croaks, ‘because that would be weird.’

Even Cas is flushed, the tips of his ears all pink, as he says, ‘And messy.’

A laugh erupts from Dean, taking any remaining tension with it, and he nudges Cas’s foot under the table. ‘Yeah, it would be.’

Cas huffs, too, ducking his gaze and focussing intently on his food. He’s humming as he eats, and they finish the rest of the spaghetti in a comfortable silence.

‘This is a nice song,’ Cas says.

‘It’s Thin Lizzy.’

Cas taps his fingers on the table, swaying a little in his seat. ‘It sounds like the kind of song two people might dance to,’ he says.

Right. Shit. Dean can see where this is going. ‘Yeah, I guess it is.’

Cas raises his eyes, and then he pushes out of his chair, rounding the table to stand by Dean. ‘Will you dance with me?’ He extends his hand, and it would be so easy to take it but—

‘I don’t dance.’

‘Neither do I,’ Cas says, ‘but I’m willing to make an exception. If you are.’

And Dean isn’t sure how he could say no, not with Cas staring down at him all imploring, so he slots his hand into Cas’s and lets Cas pull him to his feet. ‘All right,’ he says as Cas pulls them away from the table and slides an arm around Dean’s waist, ‘but I’m leading.’

Cas huffs, but he moves his hand from Dean’s waist to his shoulder. ‘Better?’

Dean hums. He pulls Cas close with a clammy hand on his waist. ‘And Sammy never hears about this.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Cas says, taking Dean’s free hand, ‘because I was looking forward to regaling Sam with tales of your dancing prowess.’

‘Hey!’ Dean bites his lip against a grin and says, ‘If you’re not careful I’m going to stomp on your feet.’

‘You already did.’

‘Shut up and dance.’ Dean shakes his head and mutters, ‘Asshole.’

Cas gives him one of those mysterious little smiles, then he rests his cheek against Dean’s. They sway together, shuffling more than dancing, with Thin Lizzy playing and, if Dean is being honest with himself, it’s really fucking nice. A bit awkward, like they’re two gangly teenagers at a school dance, but _nice_. More than nice.

He slides his arm further around Cas, until his hand is splayed on his shoulder blade, and then he turns his head and kisses him. It’s immediate, the effect on Dean—the way his blood tingles and his head swims. And Cas’s lips are soft and warm and strong. It’s only been three days since their first kiss, but it’s so familiar and new at the same time. He has a feeling it’s always going to be like that with Cas.

When they part, something makes him say, ‘You know, we could go on a proper date sometime. If you want.’

‘This isn’t a proper date?’

‘I mean like…go out somewhere.’

‘That sounds pleasant.’ Cas turns them in a slow circle, even though Dean is meant to be the one leading, but Dean doesn’t complain—it feels good to let Cas take the lead, to let himself relax into the strong embrace. Cas sighs. ‘Where would you like to go?’

‘Uh, I hadn’t really thought about it.’ The idea of the fancy restaurant flashes again in Dean’s head, but that doesn’t seem like them. ‘We could just…go to the same kind of place we usually go. A bar or some burger joint. Or maybe a more upscale joint like that.’ His gaze roams Cas’s face. ‘Is there some place you’d like to go?’

Cas looks surprised at the question. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what kind of place I’d like to go at all.’

‘Then I guess we’ll have to find out together.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Yeah,’ Dean says, ‘me too,’ and then he kisses again Cas as one song softly fades into the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I really appreciate all the comments and kudos so far - I’m super happy people are enjoying this :D
> 
> I was listening to a fair bit of Thin Lizzy when I was writing this chapter, which is why Dean and Cas dance to them - they’ve got quite a few pretty songs and I didn’t have one in particular in mind, though something like ["Sweet Marie"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PlVUEdFkguY&ab_channel=ThinLizzyChannel) would be nice to dance to I think? 
> 
> And I also ended up randomly listening to another playlist that had ["Slow Dance"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ye0fwCec0p4&ab_channel=Evil-Topic) by Evil on it, which they are definitely not listening to, but is definitely a perfect song for the scene anyway and I guess I'm in a sharing mood haha


	6. breakfast in bed

‘Hello, Dean.’

The low rumble of Cas’s voice rouses Dean from sleep. He knuckles his eyes and croaks out, ‘Morning, Cas,’ feeling less cranky than he usually does first thing. It might have something to do with waking from the best night’s sleep he’s had in a long while. Maybe ever.

He turns to thank Cas for wearing him out last night, see if he can make him blush for good measure, but Cas’s side of the bed is empty. The sheets are cool beneath his fingers, too. Weird. He must have been dreaming. It’s not like dreaming about Cas is anything unusual.

Dean’s still pleasantly sleepy, so he lets his eyes drift closed, and stretches along the bed. The muscles in his back and thighs and stomach are a little sore from last night’s workout. He smiles, as the memories of last night flood him. How Cas had sounded and how he’d felt under Dean’s hands and mouth.

Dean rolls onto his side, thinking he’ll get a few more minutes shut-eye, maybe indulge in a few fantasies, before going to find Cas, and pats his pillow to get it all comfy. Then he hears Cas’s voice saying, ‘Hello, Dean,’ again.

Dean’s eyes snap open. He scans the room through blurry eyes, but it’s empty. What the fuck?

He bolts upright, on alert. As he pushes himself up, his hand moves behind him, edging toward the pillow of its own accord. Muscle memory leading the way, but there’s no weapons to find under his pillow, now. Only something soft and…furry.

What. The fuck?

He grabs whatever it is, tugging it out, and comes face to face with Marvelous Marvin. He huffs and flops against the headboard. It’s just Jack’s old teddy bear. Something twists in his chest and he squeezes the bear harder. It says ‘Hello, Dean,’ for the third time.

Dean wonders if Cas recorded it recently, left it in the bed because he thought it would be funny, or if he did it before—

A shuddering breath escapes Dean and he sets the bear down on Cas’s side of the bed. When they’d moved his things in here, Cas had paused by Jack’s door and Dean suggested Cas bring something of Jack’s into their room. He hadn’t expected Cas to pick the damn teddy bear, but he didn’t have it in him to say no. So, now Marvin lives in their room with Dean’s books and guns and Cas’s slowly growing collection of succulents.

Now that he knows the only thing lurking in the room is the teddy bear, Dean debates burrowing back down under the covers, or going to find Cas. He’d thought Cas would want to wake up with him, after the first time they—

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. He scratches his stomach, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, then twists this way and that to crack his back. A crash echoes down the hallway, followed moments later by shouting. Cas shouting.

It’s probably nothing, probably just another false alarm like the bear, but Dean grabs his gun from the nightstand, anyway, bare feet silent on the floor as he heads toward the commotion.

He gets to the kitchen doorway, bracing himself, then edges around, gun at the ready. His arms drop to his sides and he huffs. No monsters, no demons. Just Cas making a fucking mess of Dean’s kitchen.

Dean sets his gun down and moves into the kitchen, keeping his steps light. He rests his hip against the counter, watching as Cas wrestles with a carton of eggs. There’s a smudge of flour on his face and his pyjamas are all rumpled.

Bacon sizzles in the frying pain, the scent of it filling the air, and there’s something else beneath it. Something sweet, Dean can’t quite put his finger on with the bacon masking it. But it’s all making his mouth water.

‘Morning, sunshine,’ he says.

Splat splat splat. The eggs Cas had been holding a moment ago drop to the floor. Cas wheels around, wide-eyed. ‘Dean.’

‘That’s my name.’

‘What are you doing up so early?’

‘A little bear woke me up.’

‘ _What_?’

‘Marvelous Marvin. Talking teddy bear doing his best impression of you. Ring any bells?’

‘I don’t—’ The bacon hisses and Cas turns to the stove, nearly slipping on the eggs he’d dropped.

Dean pushes away from the counter, swiping a cloth, and bends to clean the mess up.

‘I’ll get that,’ Cas says, squatting next to Dean, and tugging the cloth from his hands.

‘It’s fine,’ Dean starts, but Cas gives him a little shove, nudging him out of the way. Dean snorts. ‘Jeez, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Figured you’d be in a better mood after last night.’ And if he sounds a little sullen it’s only because he was woken from a very nice sleep by a teddy bear, and not any lingering doubts.

‘Last night was beautiful,’ Cas says, and Dean flushes at his casual admission, ‘that’s not why I’m in a bad mood.’ He finishes mopping up the eggs and stands. ‘And I’m not in a bad mood.’

‘Oh, sure, you’re all rainbows and kittens.’ Dean straightens up, knees protesting. ‘What’re you doing anyway?’

‘I’m knitting a sweater.’ Cas sends him a glare, then adds, ‘I’m making breakfast.’

‘Right.’ Dean nods, slowly, tongue between his teeth as he tries not to smile. He’d ask if they switched personalities sometime in the night, but, honestly, Cas has always been a snarky sonofabitch. ‘The counter and the floor want some too?’

Cas crosses his arms. ‘You’re not the tidiest cook.’

‘True. But I usually manage to get most of the ingredients _in_ the meal.’

‘If you don’t want any—’

‘Aw, Cas, don’t be like that.’ Dean blinks as Cas’s words sink in and his heart gives a little kick. ‘Wait, are you making breakfast for me?’

The first crack in Cas’s bad mood appears, and he shifts his weight, shoulders hunching. ‘Yes, I— I wanted to surprise you.’

‘Well, I’m surprised.’

‘ _Dean_.’

Dean bites his lip. He only feels a little bad, because, frankly, Cas all rumpled and annoyed is so freaking cute. But, still, he says, ‘Thank you,’ smiling as warmth suffuses him. ‘You want a hand?’

‘No.’ Cas waves him away. ‘Go back to bed.’

Maybe it should piss Dean off, Cas bossing him around, but he kind of likes this side of Cas. More than kind of. Always has. And he’s still amused and warmed by equal turns at the thought of Cas doing this for him. Dean takes the chance to watch Cas, but Cas turns another desperate look on him.

‘Please go. I’ll bring the breakfast in to you when it’s done.’

‘OK, OK.’ Dean holds his hands up and, after another moment, walks back down the hall.

Alone in their room, waiting for Cas to bring him breakfast, Dean feels strangely awkward. He straightens the sheets, and fluffs up the pillows, then sits on the bed. But he can’t keep still, finding things to put away, pacing the length of the bed.

He’s about to go down to the kitchen and check on Cas when he appears in the door, a tray in his white-knuckled grip.

‘You made it out alive, then,’ Dean says, the earlier awkwardness dispelled by the sight of Cas looking so damn harried. He just wants to _hug_ him or maybe let Cas pin him with more than that intense gaze. Dean swallows and sits on the bed.

Cas’s nostrils flare; he crosses to the bed and sets the tray down a little too hard on the nightstand. Coffee sloshes over the rim of Dean’s favourite mug, spilling onto a plate of yellowy eggs that look a bit underdone. The bacon looks overdone. The toast looks like it might have been bread at some point in time.

Dean’s probably eaten worse.

‘Where’s yours?’ Dean asks.

Cas mumbles something Dean doesn’t catch and, when Dean asks him to repeat it, grits out, ‘This is all that I could salvage.’

Somehow that’s the thing that finally gets to Dean, makes guilt well up behind his lingering amusement. ‘Well, it looks…great.’

‘It does not.’

Dean bites his lip. ‘No, seriously, it looks _totally_ tasty.’

‘You’re usually a better liar than that.’

There’s no sting in that barb, not now, not when Cas is still all rumpled and sulky and annoyed, and he made Dean _breakfast in bed_. It doesn’t matter that the eggs look like they’re in serious danger of giving Dean salmonella. Dean reaches out and tugs on Cas’s hand until Cas grudgingly sits on the bed by Dean’s feat.

‘Thank you for making me breakfast.’

‘I’m not sure that’s exactly what I made.’ Cas sighs a little dramatically, looking at his hands. ‘I’ve witnessed the rise and fall of civilisations, I’ve been to hell, I’ve fought angels and demons, and I’m defeated by breakfast.’

Dean barks out a laugh. He pokes Cas in the side. ‘Don’t be a drama queen. I haven’t tried it yet, it might taste better than it looks?’

‘Don’t eat it.’

‘Nope, you made it, I’m eating it.’ Dean picks up the fork and scoops up some eggs. He’s faced worse, he can handle this. ‘Yeah, um,’ Dean says, forcing himself to swallow, ‘good stuff.’ They’re not cooked enough, at all, but they’re not _raw_ so that’s a plus.

‘Don’t try to make me feel better, it looks terrible.’ Cas sighs again. ‘I just wanted to do something to show my appreciation.’

Dean sets his fork down and reaches out to curl his hand around Cas’s wrist. ‘You know you don’t have to pay me back for anything.’

‘That’s not what I’m doing. I wanted to do something nice because…’ Cas trails off, brow furrowed. ‘I just wanted to. You deserve it.’

‘You still did something nice, Cas.’ Dean tries not to grimace as a blob of egg he hadn’t swallowed makes its way around his mouth. ‘And, hey, I haven’t tried the bacon, yet.’ Before Cas can protest again, Dean shoves a strip in his mouth. It’s crunchier than it should be but it’s still bacon. ‘Not bad.’

‘Don’t humour me.’

‘I’m not,’ Dean says around another strip, ‘it’s _bacon_.’

Cas rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

Without thinking, Dean takes a sip of coffee. It’s still a little too hot but it’s better than their usual brew. ‘Damn, this is good.’ He takes another sip, eyes drifting closed. Sweet, sweet, caffeine. ‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing. I just bought some different beans.’

‘Well, you’re officially on coffee duty for, like, ever.’ Dean munches on some toast, immediately regretting it because it’s like chomping on a stick of charcoal, then drinks some more coffee.

‘Using the coffee maker is hardly a culinary achievement. Anyone can do it.’

‘Wouldn’t be so sure,’ Dean says, thinking of all the burnt tar-like coffee he’s had in his life.

Cas opens and closes his mouth, folding his hands in his lap. ‘I did make one other thing. It’s not strictly a breakfast food…’

‘Hey, anything’s a breakfast food if you eat it at the right time of day.’

Cas tilts his head and says, ‘I suppose so.’

‘So…’ Dean lets the one syllable hang between them, his brows raised, but when Cas’s face remains blank he says, ‘You gonna go get this mystery food?’ hoping he sounds encouraging and not like a man dreading his fate.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Hell yeah.’ Dean’s sure his stomach is going to revolt, later, but he’d eat Sammy’s rabbit food if it got Cas to give him that little smile he’s giving Dean, now. He waves a hand and says, ‘Go on.’

Cas spreads his hands and says, ‘OK,’ dubiously but he leaves the room, coming back moments later with a tray of…

‘Are those cinnamon rolls?’ Dean pushes himself up, craning his neck as Cas brings the tray over.

‘They’re maple pecan cinnamon scrolls,’ Cas says, setting the tray down and sitting by Dean again.

After the runny eggs and burnt toast, Dean is a little wary but they smell mouth-wateringly good and he’s honestly starving, so he plucks one from the tray and takes a bite. It’s— ‘Holy crap, you _made_ this?’ He stares at the remainder of the scroll in his hand like it’s some kind of miracle.

‘Yes.’ Cas looks uncertainly at the tray of scrolls. ‘Is it bad?’

‘No, it’s— Dude, it’s delicious.’ Dean shoves the rest of the scroll in his mouth and takes another. It’s fluffy and the blend of maple and cinnamon is perfect. He lets out a low moan and says, ‘Screw coffee duty you’re making me these every day for the rest of our lives.’ He flushes at his implication. It’s not exactly a revelation to Dean that he wants Cas around permanently, forever, but he’s making a habit of blurting out important confessions.

But Cas looks so damn _happy_ that Dean doesn’t care. Cas rests his hand on Dean’s knee, squeezing lightly. ‘I don’t think eating them every day would be a good idea. But thank you.’ He glances up at Dean, still looking uncertain. ‘Are they really good?’

‘Yes!’ Dean takes another, shoving the entire thing in his mouth even though he should probably savour it. It’s just too _good_.

‘Dean, slow down. You’ll be sick.’

‘I don’t care.’ Dean shoves one at Cas and says, ‘Have one.’

Cas eyes it uncertainly but he takes the scroll and bites into it. His brows shoot up. ‘That _is_ good.’

‘Right? You’ve been holding out on me.’ Dean shakes his head, then juts his chin at the discarded bacon and eggs. ‘How did you manage to fuck up the most basic food and then make these?’

‘Thank you,’ Cas deadpans. He shakes his head and adds, ‘Maybe it was beginner’s luck? I didn’t even plan to make them. I was just browsing online for more succulents and an hour later I was on a recipe blog, and I know you like baked goods, so…’

Dean grins. He goes to pluck another scroll from the tray, but Cas bats his hand away. ‘What gives?’

‘Don’t eat all of them. I wanted to save some for Sam and Eileen to try when they get back later today.’

‘You shouldn’t have brought the whole tray in if you didn’t want me to eat them.’

Cas lets out a long-suffering sigh. ‘You really are insatiable, sometimes.’

‘Don’t remember you complaining last night.’

And there it is, the blush Dean had been looking forward to since he woke up. He _knew_ he’d be able to get one out of Cas. While Cas seems distracted, he sneaks another scroll, but Cas’s reflexes are still lightning fast and he swipes for it. Somehow, they end up wrestling over it, all breathless giggles and scrabbling hands.

For a moment, Dean claims victory, pinning Cas to the bed and plucking the scroll from his hands. He says, ‘Here, I’ll share it with you,’ biting into it and lowering it until Cas gets the idea and takes the other half between his teeth. They meet in the middle with a kiss, and Cas, the wily bastard, takes the opportunity to flip them over.

‘That’s the last one,’ Cas says, ‘save some for Sam and Eileen. They’ll be home later today.’

Dean licks his lips, chasing the taste of sugar and Cas. He tries to think of another trademark smartass comeback but his brain is only giving him static, so he murmurs, ‘Fine, I’ll save them some.’

‘Good.’ Cas shifts his weight, one thigh pressing between Dean’s, thumbs rubbing circles into his palms. His eyes are dark and wide and there’s a drop of sugar on his bottom lip.

‘You know, it’s still kinda early,’ Dean says, breath hitching.

Cas’s brow furrows. ‘Yes.’

‘And, like you said, Sammy and Eileen won’t be back till later.’ Dean swallows thickly as Cas shifts on top of him again. ‘And the kitchen can wait. It ain’t getting any dirtier.’

‘I suppose not.’

The weight of Cas on top of him grounds Dean, is as comforting as it is exciting and intoxicating. He licks his lips again. ‘So how about we…go back to bed?’

‘We’re already in—’ Cas’s eyes narrow for a moment, then his expression clears. His lips tilt, ever so slightly, the hint of a sly smile. ‘Oh. That sounds like a good idea.’

Dean grins and pulls Cas down, sinking his hands into Cas’s hair. He’s wanted to do it for _years._ As Cas trails kisses along his jaw Dean says, ‘You’re gonna make another batch of those scrolls later, though,’ his hands fisting at Cas’s waist.

Cas chuckles against his neck and says, ‘ _Insatiable_.’ He pulls back so he can look at Dean, all sparkling eyes and toothy grin.

‘Yeah.’ Dean smiles up at Cas, running a hand over his face. He has no idea how he got so lucky, how this ridiculous, beautiful, _awesome_ man loves him, or how they got so many second chances. But he doesn’t care because he has him and he’s not letting go this time. He sweeps his thumb over Cas’s cheek and says, ‘Maybe I am.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re done!! Thanks again so much to everyone who’s read along the way - I had a lot of fun writing this and it’s been a nice way to wrap up this (very bizarre, awful) year. I honestly had no intentions of ever writing anything for this ship (because I’ve been so intimidated tbh) but I guess that was just another 2020 curveball! It’s one I’m pretty happy with, though :)
> 
> Oh, and sorry for the fade to black - I’m so not in the mood for writing anything above T rated at the moment XD
> 
> Feel free to come find me on tumblr - my main blog [gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) has very little SPN but I started another blog [ersatzangel](http://ersatzangel.tumblr.com/) to just reblog a bunch of SPN stuff
> 
> ETA: Now have [a little promo thing on tumblr for it if you're into reblogging :)](https://ersatzangel.tumblr.com/post/641871316016873472/no-sincerer-love-t-158k-complete-a-fluffyw)


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